


i can't be no superman but for you i'd be superhuman

by goodbyechunkylemonmilk



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bromance, Canon Queer Character of Color, Coming Out, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-10
Updated: 2012-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-11 19:58:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodbyechunkylemonmilk/pseuds/goodbyechunkylemonmilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jackson is a complete shit and Danny finds it unjustifiably endearing. (And Danny comes out with much less fanfare than anticipated.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	i can't be no superman but for you i'd be superhuman

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _Save You Tonight_ by One Direction.

Danny's thirteen and shaking like a leaf and trying to ignore the uncomfortably large part of himself that's saying this is the biggest mistake he'll ever make. Jackson is about as far from an ideal target for a first coming out as it's possible to get without actually being homophobic (probably). He's just a giant dick, but somehow they're best friends, and Danny doesn't know how they've gotten to this point, but they have, so. He knocks on the gate that leads to Jackson's backyard and even that sounds tentative, so quiet he knows Jackson will only hear if he's been waiting nearby.

“Something wrong?” Jackson opens the gate suited up in the lacrosse gear he somehow convinced his parents to buy despite not being on a team of any sort or even having played at all. Danny, for context, is carrying his brother's old gloves and a football helmet he found in their basement, which he thinks is a much more normal way to practice a sport he doesn't even know if he's good at yet. He shakes his head, and the concerned look on Jackson's face morphs into impatience. “Get in the fucking goal then.” Jackson's thirteen as well and experimenting with cursing; his tongue still trips over the expletive. Danny rolls his eyes, bites back a comment about how badass Jackson isn't, and acquiesces.

The goal is regulation-sized, marketed as “the same one the pros use” because Jackson is a fucking idiot who pitched a fit when his parents suggested buying a kiddie goal. Danny thinks the whole thing is rather unfair since he's not exactly regulation-sized, but Jackson can barely lob the ball in the right direction so he doesn't bother complaining. Half the time it either stays caught in his net or plops on the ground by his feet. When he does manage to get it near Danny, it either falls short or is easily stopped, usually without Danny having to move at all. Jackson's frustrated within ten minutes of starting because he can't fathom being this _bad_ at something.

“Why can't we just play football?” Danny asks after Jackson's thrown his stick to the ground in anger.

“No one who's anyone in this town plays football.” Jackson turns away, wiping his eyes violently. “Ugh, sweat, sorry.”

“Yeah.” Danny fights the urge to point out that he's not an idiot and can tell when his best friend's teared up a little, but again, he's not an idiot so he knows better. “But I like football. We're _good_ at football.” They're not good exactly, but anything is better than the travesty he's been watching.

“But there's no point in playing if no one cares.” Jackson stomps his foot on “cares” because Jackson is a petulant little child Jackson is Veruca fucking Salt Jackson is a goddamn embarrassment. Danny wishes he were rolling his eyes instead of grinning fondly.

“We'd have fun?” He should be more concerned about Jackson's obsession with proving himself and how he can't be happy if no one's there to tell him he's done well, but right now he's busy trying to have a Big Gay Crisis so it can wait.

“Don't be an idiot. Get back in the goal.” Jackson still won't look at him and his voice comes out thick and that makes the timing feel right, because at least they can be embarrassing teary messes together. Danny takes a deep breath, then several more.

“I need to talk to you about something.”

“Can't it wait?”

“No.” When Jackson gets really upset, the shots he does make end up too close to Danny's head for comfort, so it's probably a good idea to take a breather. Anyway, there's something about Jackson being in tears over lacrosse that makes him a lot less intimidating. This is, of course, the only context in which Jackson is capable of being at all intimidating. No matter how much he swaggers around and gives orders, all Danny can think of is the lost puppy look on his face when he's worried about disappointing his parents. The face he is, in fact, making right now, clearly thinking of what will happen if he doesn't somehow improve. “But after this we'll practice until I have to go home, okay?” He lets the _if you don't hate me_ go unspoken.

“Fine.” Jackson tugs his gloves off and throws them on the ground, where they're quickly joined by his helmet. “What is it?”

“Um.” Danny's hands get clammy and he takes his gloves off as well just for something to do. “God, this is. I just wanted to tell you—” He's practiced this in the mirror over and over again, has an entire speech planned out, but his mouth won't work properly and everything that comes out sounds stupid.

“Dude, are you okay? Do you need to sit down?” He gestures to a stone bench set on the edge of his mom's garden, and for a second Danny feels like he's made friends with someone who doesn't think empathy is optional instead of, you know, Jackson Whittemore. He's not sure how he feels about it.

“Yeah, maybe.” Danny looks at the bench, but it seems a little too far, so instead he takes a few steps and sits in the middle of the makeshift field, legs crossed. “C'mere.” Jackson approaches warily, like Danny might get up and attack him, but eventually sits too.

“This is getting weird.” He pauses and bites his lip, clearly concentrating hard to come up with what he says next. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. That's what best friends are for, right?” The fucked up part is that it's an actual question, though the question is not, obviously, what best friends are for. The question is in the way he pauses before “best friends” like he's not completely sure, like he's prepared to be laughed at. Danny's actually pretty sure it's the first time he's ever referred to them that way.

“Yeah, I guess.” He grins a little, lets himself believe that this won't all go to shit the second he admits it and says with more certainty, “Yeah, you're right. Okay. I'm just. I'm not completely sure how to do this.”

“Wait. Are you going to tell me you're in love with me?” Which is simultaneously miles away from the truth and way too close for comfort, but Jackson doesn't look upset at the thought. He doesn't look lovestruck either, which would be almost as horrific. He just seems excited, the way he looked last Valentine's day when he got cards from fifteen different secret admirers, and okay, Danny will absolutely not be his ego boost.

“I'm not in love with you.” Danny thinks, meanly, that he has better taste than that. “But I am gay.” He slumps after he says it, tension he's been feeling for weeks dissipating. It's out of his hands now. Jackson will react how he reacts and there's nothing he can do.

Jackson's eyes widen momentarily, but then he recovers and smirks. “And you expect me to believe you're not in love with me?”

“Really? You're not my type.” Danny's a little disappointed by the response, but he reminds himself that if he really wanted hugs and tears and _This doesn't change anything_ s, he'd have a different best friend.

“Bullshit. I'm everyone's type.”

“Dude, I've seen you cry over _bowling_. Kind of a boner killer.”

“Fuck you.” Danny considers responding in kind, but lets it go because this is what passes for an incredibly heartfelt conversation with Jackson. He's sure it's been overwhelming. “If you're done talking about your feelings, can we get back to practice?”

“Fine.” They move to stand at the same time, but Jackson grips Danny's shoulder as support, effectively shoving him back down. Before Jackson lets go, his fingers tighten in what Danny's sure is meant to be an affectionate squeeze but could just as easily be a muscle spasm.

Jackson stalks over to where he's left his equipment. “Get back in the goal.”

Danny stays where he is, feeling stupid as he asks, “So this doesn't bother you at all? You're not freaked out?”

“It bothers me that you're lying about me not being your type, but other than that, no. You're my best friend.” He continues not looking at Danny, strapping on his gloves carefully so he won't accidentally make eye contact. “Nothing's changing that.” As if realizing he's said something nice, he begins to talk again, quickly, words tripping over each other as he tries to cover it up. “I just mean you're pretty much the least stupid person I know, so you're kind of like a buffer between me and like, the McCalls of the world. I don't have the time to break in a new buffer.”

“That's touching, man.” He says it sarcastically, but he can't keep an indulgent smile from crossing his face.

“Why are you looking at me like that? It wasn't a fucking compliment! Jesus Christ, is this some type of gay thing? Are you all naturally fucking sappy?” And the thing is, Danny knows Jackson's just incapable of not ruining nice moments, knows that he has just grasped around for the worst possible thing he can say without ending their friendship, but being the mature one is overrated and exhausting, especially when he's been freaking out about this conversation all week. He's pretty sure he deserves to punch Jackson in the face (no one has ever talked to Jackson for more than five seconds without deserving to punch him in the face), so he does.

Later, as Jackson's nursing his injuries, he nods knowingly. “Totally a gay thing.” And Danny just laughs, because his best friend's an idiot and he's an idiot for tolerating it, but later Jackson will text him ten times in a row or compliment his (completely mediocre) goalkeeping abilities or do some other stupid, petty, wholly endearing thing that'll mean he's sorry for being such a dick. Danny thinks if he were smarter, he'd have friends other than this maladjusted loser, but he's not so he doesn't and he's pretty sure that's okay.


End file.
